


addendums

by bibliocratic



Series: Good Omens/The Magnus Archives [6]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Adelard Dekker - Freeform, Eldritch Husbands, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Everyone is trying very hard, Existentialism For Avatars 101, Historical References, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Jon's Doing His Best and Being Supportive, M/M, Martin's Working Through A Lot of Feelings Right Now, Monster Boyfriends, Morality discussions, POV Outsider, Queer History, Web Martin Blackwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23318326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bibliocratic/pseuds/bibliocratic
Summary: case #0181130B - Assorted accounts of Messrs Fell and Crowley, variousOr: According to the files at the Archives, Fell and Crowley have been very busy over the years.  Martin and Jon attempt to cope with their new normal.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Series: Good Omens/The Magnus Archives [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1372270
Comments: 77
Kudos: 243





	1. notes from August, 2018

**Author's Note:**

> Only took six months, but here it is! (The whole thing's been languishing as an almost completed draft since November, just took ages to get it all to slot together)
> 
> This loosely follows on from the events in case #0180610 (namely Aziraphale's injuries, and Martin's alignment with the Web), but it all gets discussed in enough detail here that you don't necessarily need to have read that already, though it'd be helpful. 
> 
> Set concurrently to case #0181130A, and deals with what Jon and Martin were doing during that time.

**Attached notes, regarding the entities Crowley and Aziraphale, as held by the Magnus Institute, London.**

_July 2001  
_ _Cases #9980125 and #9670302 now being filed under THE OPERATIVES / ONGOING. Case #8430911 has yet to be formally assigned to these agents, but their involvement has been assumed unless contrary evidence presents itself.  
_ – **_GR_**

_September 2014  
_ _I've added those three new sightings – let me know if you'd like further follow-up research done on these!  
 **\- MS**_

_ As of 07/2017:  
_ _The folder formally labelled UNASSIGNED / LONDON / EYE+WEB? has been merged with file: THE OPERATIVES / ONGOING._

_New file designation: ASSIGNED / SOHO, LONDON  
_ – **_JS_**

 _  
Because filing things is apparently not the responsibility of the Head Archivist, what a shocker, I've taken the liberty of including all the spooky shenanigans related to those two here, the ones we can charitably assume are something to do with them anyway. Don't thank me.  
_– **_Melanie_**

_  
06 / 2018:  
_ _Appropriate tone should be maintained during all official archival notations._

_ASSIGNED/ SOHO, LONDON folder will reflect alterations in archive records on Fell, A and Crowley, A, following the inclusion of cases #0100426, #0170712A & B and #0180610._

_These folders have been moved to reflect their status as Known and Active elements in London.  
_ – **_JS  
  
_**

* * *

  
[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST  
… think it's safe to say that there's the fingerprints of the Stranger all over this one. Regarding Ms. Uliakhina’s encounter, it could be argued that it’s notably similar to the manifestation witnessed by… [ _the flicking through of sheets_ ] Thomas Heaps, case, er #9960917. It might not be a bad idea to get Basira or Martin on this, see if they can dredge up the notes Gertrude made on that particular case. That, if we're lucky, might just allow us to make a concrete comparison –

[ _abruptly cuts himself off_ ]

[ _a roil of static, intruding in the silence for a moment_ ]

... Ah.

[ _the slide of plastic on metal, an unhurried tapping, the faint trill of a call connecting_ ]  
  
[ _on the phone_ ] Hi, it's me. Yes I _know_ you're only in the other room, I'm not _that_ lazy. We're going to have a visitor.......... No, no, nothing to worry about. Just... let the others know, in case they get the wrong idea.......... [ _chuffing a_ _laugh_ ] Exactly.......... [ _noticeably warmly_ ] Thank you. See you soon. Bye.......... Me too.

[ _disconnects call_ ]  
  
[ _another few moments, a pencil tapping distractedly, a bundle of other assorted sedate office sounds_ ]  
  
[ _door opens_ ]

The chair over there's free. I assumed you'd drop by eventually.

[ _the slump and shush of papers being picked up and dropped to the floor, an 'ah' as someone drops down, the wince of faux leather_ ]

CROWLEY  
Like a bad penny, me. Cor, s' dusty in here, isn't it? I thought you lot would be a bit more fastidious. Know your way around some Pledge and a duster, give the place a bit of the old spick-and-span shine.

ARCHIVIST  
We don't exactly get a lot of visitors here. Those we do, well... the décor is the last thing on their minds.

CROWLEY  
[ _a thrown-out hum of agreement. A harder breath taken through teeth_ ]

I see you're back in the land of the living again. Looking a bit less, er, moth-eaten. Fog-bound. Whatever. Good. That's... that's good.

ARCHIVIST  
I could say the same. Martin was... he was under the impression you were a bit worse for wear after your stint in the Buried.

CROWLEY  
What, me? Nah, I'm hardy. Your Martin worries too much. Too many strings tugging at him these days, and he doesn't know which ones are important.

ARCHIVIST  
I understand you were there.

CROWLEY  
[ _sharper, very painfully defensive_ ] Martin made his choice, don't go turning those judgy eyes of yours on me.

ARCHIVIST  
[ _back-pedalling_ ] Wha – no, I didn't mean to... Just that he, um, told me. What happened. Afterwards.

CROWLEY  
You were a bit busy being the Lonely's favourite chew-toy, me and Martin had to hold the fort for a bit.

ARCHIVIST  
I mean when you got Aziraphale out of the coffin.

CROWLEY  
That. Yeah. A small incident. Not worth worrying about.

ARCHIVIST  
[ _a delicate – at least for him – pause_ ]

I – I was in the Buried, once. Are you – how are you doing?

CROWLEY  
Oh, peachy, obviously. Right as rain.

ARCHIVIST  
… and Aziraphale?

CROWLEY  
[ _a delayed, burdened tensing, the bluster taken out of his sails_ ] What do you want me to say, Jon? You know he's not.

ARCHIVIST  
I, er. See him. Sometimes. In my dreams.

CROWLEY  
[ _hurt_ ] I don't see him in mine. Not anymore.

ARCHIVIST  
I'm sure he's just focusing on recovery, putting himself back together.

CROWLEY  
[ _bitter, trying not to be selfish but tendrils of it peeking through_ ] He's avoiding me. He's ashamed.

ARCHIVIST  
He's frightened.

CROWLEY  
And it's such an inclusive club these days.

ARCHIVIST  
We could always...

[ _the door is knocked open with a foot_ ]

MARTIN  
Right, careful, they're hot, so I'll just – let me put them down... move that file, would you, Jon, there we go.

ARCHIVIST  
[ _dry as ever, but his tone has lost all its earlier tension_ ] You hurry up and grow yourself some extra arms, you'll make it easier for yourself.

MARTIN  
[ _sarky_ ] Keep thinking you're a comedian.

[ _addressing Crowley, outright relief_ ] We were really worried, you know. It's... it's really good to see you.

CROWLEY  
I've not exactly been in the position to make house-calls, have I? But... thanks.

[ _more tentative, hints of budding shame_ ] Everything... is everything all OK with you? Nothing... nothing y'know... spooky?

MARTIN  
It's... it's all OK, Crowley. Nothing... nothing spooky.

[ _slower_ ] Aziraphale?

ARCHIVIST  
He isn't getting any better, is he?

CROWLEY  
It's impolite to go ratching around in someone's head, _Archivist._

ARCHIVIST  
[ _peevish_ ] It's not like some tap I can simply –

MARTIN  
[ _defusing like a pro, and it can be strongly implied he's giving Jon A Look._ ] Crowley, you look... you look terrible. Take the tea. It's not an interrogation, we just want to know you're both OK, _right_ Jon?

ARCHIVIST  
Right.

CROWLEY  
I'm fine.

ARCHIVIST  
 _[managing his tone with difficulty]_ You... You would like something from us, I take it. From the Archives. How can – how can we help you?

CROWLEY  
[ _taking a small sip_ ] Statements. I need them.

ARCHIVIST  
They're our stock in trade. Any in particular?

CROWLEY  
Statements about Aziraphale. Or featuring him, I guess, if we had the good luck to make it as a two-for-one. You'll have some rattling around here. The Eye's nothing if not a hoarder.

MARTIN  
We've a few to hand under your names. There will probably be a load unfiled, but I can go grab the files we've got?

ARCHIVIST  
Why do you need statements?

CROWLEY  
[ _evasive_ ] Reckon you lot owe me a favour, after getting rid of Captain Birdseye for you.

ARCHIVIST  
That's – We'd like to _help_ , Crowley. You don't have to tell us, but you don't... you don't have to do this on your own.

CROWLEY

…

[ _deflating, tired_ ] Aziraphale doesn't... he doesn't remember much. About anything. When he's... he's himself, he's confused, and scattered and sick, for all the world back in that bloody coffin. And when he's not. Well. [ _awkwardly_ ] You got a good look at what that looked like, Martin. You and the angry one. When we first got him out.

ARCHIVIST  
You think he's dangerous.

CROWLEY  
I know he's hungry.

ARCHIVIST  
So he's not human anymore, that's what you're saying?

CROWLEY  
He was never human. We're all of us monstrous here, Archivist. Can't be getting all trigger-happy throwing about words like that, not these days. You and Martin, you've the advantage of being born human, whatever you are now. Me and Aziraphale, we had to struggle for that. Mould our humanness over centuries, it had to be _learned,_ and practised and fought for. We're only as human as we can be, and as soon as we slip up, there's the possibility it's gone altogether.

…

Aziraphale, he... he just needs to remember what that place tried to crush out of him. Remember himself.

ARCHIVIST  
I hope you're sure.

CROWLEY  
I don't need your confidence, I want your help. Are you going to, or not?

ARCHIVIST  
Of course. Of course, Martin, do you mind...?

MARTIN  
Going.  
  
[ _steps, door shuts_ ]

CROWLEY  
… Congratulations, by the way.

ARCHIVIST  
…. I don't follow?

CROWLEY  
You and Martin. Getting friendlier, you know. [ _his tone takes on the verbal equivalent of a wink_ ] Becoming inter-entity collaborators.

ARCHIVIST  
Er.

CROWLEY  
Going steady? That's what the kids call it these days, yeah?

ARCHIVIST  
[ _incredibly embarrassed, trying to be British about it_ ] I – er. Did um, did Martin tell...?

CROWLEY  
Please. You practically fluttered your Eyelashes when he came into the office. You aren't subtle. Your lot rarely are.

ARCHIVIST  
Um…

CROWLEY  
It’s sweet, is all I'm saying. It’s about time. Glad someone’s getting it all together.

MARTIN  
[ _door opening, breaking up the moment_ ] ‘Kay, got a load of them here. Let’s see… cases #008…

CROWLEY  
[ _interrupting, clearly taking them right out of his hands_ ] These will do just nicely without the spiel. Thanks.

ARCHIVIST  
If you need any more…

CROWLEY  
I’ll pop by. Ta. [ _cautiously grateful_ ] Thanks. I'd better get back. He's... he's sleeping a lot. I don't want him to wake up and see I'm gone. He worries.

MARTIN  
Head out the tunnels. Don't want Melanie to catch you.

CROWLEY  
Good call. Right, ciao, fellas.

[ _door opening and closing_ ]

ARCHIVIST  
Well, that was...

MARTIN  
He looked really rough.

ARCHIVIST  
[ _half-remembering, dense with recollection_ ] Yeah. The Buried will do that.

[ _drawing back_ ] How many then? Do we have, statements of Aziraphale?

MARTIN  
To hand? Three or four. There's four or five maybe that I know Basira's put somewhere in the overflow stacks that we could root out. Statements that reference him as a participant alongside Crowley, few more maybe?

ARCHIVIST  
That's not going to be enough.

MARTIN  
No. [ _sucks in_ ] Think your, y'know, eyeball can sniff us out something?

  
ARCHIVIST  
[ _unimpressed_ ] My _eyeball._ Why of course. However did I not think of that.

MARTIN  
Well, yeah, Aziraphale's one of its lot. Surely then...?

ARCHIVIST  
I don't know. Perhaps? It's not exactly a precise science, and it's equally likely to try and hide the information from me. What with Aziraphale being an, well, unknown quantity, I suppose we could call it.

MARTIN  
Do you.... can you get that impression from it?

ARCHIVIST  
Whenever he... if he shows up in my dreams... I don't think the Eye likes it. It's like... I don't know how to... like a mental nausea? Like I'm looking at something that disagrees with me.

MARTIN  
Will he be OK? Do you think?

ARCHIVIST  
I don't know, Martin. I really don't.

MARTIN  
[ _prompting, trying to lighten the atmosphere_ ] I go to all the effort and still you're letting your tea go cold.

ARCHIVIST  
Oh. Sorry.

MARTIN  
I'll try and forgive you. [ _claps hands together_ ] Right. I'll go see if I can hunt down those statements Basira filed.

ARCHIVIST  
Hm. Good idea. I'll go looking through some of Gertrude's old piles, see what I can turn up.

[CLICK]


	2. Case #0071218 - Statement of Adelard Dekker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley have not gone unnoticed. 
> 
> Martin struggles.

[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST  
[ _background scraping sounds of someone going through files and folders_ ]

[ _he's clearly been muttering to himself throughout_ ] …'d be too much to ask for a bit of consistency in the filing, wouldn't it………. what's………. who put _this_ one here, for _god's_ ………. Ah! Finally.  
  
[ _moving closer to the recorder_ ]

Er – right. Let's see.

Statement of Adelard Dekker, taken from a letter to Gertrude Robinson, dated 18th December 2007. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist.

Statement begins.

_Gertrude,  
  
_ _It's a rare thing to be back on home soil, but still, I regret I won't be able to come and see you personally. You mustn't think I'm avoiding you; a lead from the States means I have to fly again on the next available flight out. One of your hints proving fruitful again. God willing, I will see you when the next year rolls itself over, should this manifestation of the Hunt prove as mewling and toothless as expected, but as it stands, we must be satisfied with remaining distant correspondents._

_I have no further evidence on the matter of the Extinction, though I'm sure you would argue this as further evidence against such a theory. I know you'll have plenty to say, but I will ask your patience – what I am writing about is, for once, not related to this._

_I have been thinking about what we discussed at length, the last time we could do so face to face. A lot has happened since then; I know the cult of that zealous chandlery keeps you busy. My memory doesn't serve me as sharp as yours does, something I'm always envious of, but this at least sticks in my mind – our tabled speculation that one of the Mother's children was holed up around Mayfair and Soho. Not an Avatar; as far as I'm aware, the Web has no specific presence or agent in London, though I'm sure it won't be long until this changes.  
  
_ _On this premise, Gertrude, I can at least offer you further proof to support this theory._

_My research initially bore few returns. Areas of London so long-lived as Soho acquire macabre tales of ghosts and ghouls as easily as dust and rot. There were however, some indications to give me encouragement; the British Library holds a surprising collection of pre-Industrial broadsides – these being what we would think of as primitive forms of distributed media. They're not much to look at, but I can tell you, more difficult than expected to get access to. They're single pieces of paper, cheaply printed, many the worse for wear, which might recount local news, religious rhetoric or satirical ballads on the subject of the usual dross of the papers today; public figures, scandal, politics. I've since sourced a great number, though their trustworthiness must of course be called into question, this being not exactly the age of journalistic impartiality._

_These records extend from the seventeenth century to well into the nineteenth, and speak of a so-called 'demon', stalking London's streets. I've found a number of them luridly warning of a 'spindle-legged Death' in areas as diverse as the Clink in Southwark, and in Wandsworth, around the established areas of winter Romani encampments. There's even a rather fanciful ballad that puts to lyrics seeing a 'many-legged creature of hell-fire' scuttling up the high walls of Holland's Leaguer during its siege, though this is, of course, not corroborated, however dramatic its ink-print illustration is._

_It is the consistency of these mentions, rather than their wild and likely inaccurate content, that I thought would be of note. Whatever Powers-blighted entity is involved, it seems to favour disreputable corners, areas – rightly or wrongly – associated with criminality and immoral behaviour. The stories make for entertaining reading if you like that sort of thing - this crawling 'demon' is portrayed variously, amongst other crimes, as inciting the faithful to Satan's will, giving alms to 'tribades and harlots', having too many eyes, and eating wayward priests._

_While I'm highly doubtful of such tall tales, there is something in London that the Web has mothered, Gertrude. There are darker strains to the stories, too. Extortion, blackmail, fraud and coercion. People's lives ruined and changed by a visit from a fanged and smiling stranger. Perhaps the strings go deeper still. There are hints too, of a companion creature – perhaps another servant of the Web._

_My other activities keep me busy and away from London, but I will keep you updated, both regarding the Extinction, and these murkier presences so close to home. Let me know if you have any insights on these matters._

_Until we meet again, stay safe._

_Adelard._

Statement ends.

[ _a thoughtful huff, a deep exhale_ ]

[ _an opening and close of a draw, a few scratches of a pen_ ]

MARTIN  
Looks like Crowley's been active for a while then.

ARCHIVIST  
[ _distracted_ ] Hm? Oh. Yes, I suppose so. Sticking to London as well, so at least we've something to go on regarding a paper trail.

Didn't notice you coming in.

MARTIN  
Because you've always been so observant.

ARCHIVIST  
Point taken.

MARTIN  
We going to add that one to the pile?

ARCHIVIST  
Perhaps. It's useful background at any rate. Helps give us a bit of chronology regarding their movements.

MARTIN  
[ _mildly ribbing_ ] And you got dinner out of it.

ARCHIVIST  
[ _like he's trying not to smile at a joke_ ] … quite.

MARTIN  
Fancy dessert?

[ _a heavy thump_ ]

ARCHIVIST  
Lord! What...?

[ _a muffled coughing, like a sleeve clamped over his mouth, a standing grumble of a chair_ ]

It's certainly been a while since anyone went anywhere near this thing. Where'd you dig this out of?

MARTIN  
[ _a little proudly_ ] Went back to Gertrude's lock-up. Which, update, still super creepy. God knows why she kept them separate, but there's [ _a creaking pop of cardboard_ ] … look there's tons in here.

ARCHIVIST  
Is it... have you taken a look?

MARTIN  
Skimmed some of them, just for confirmation. From what I could see, they all seem to be about Crowley and Aziraphale.

ARCHIVIST  
[ _half talking to himself, flicking through some of them_ ] Wonder why she didn't keep them with the rest of the statements.

MARTIN  
She thought they were dangerous, maybe? Might even be just space, in fairness, there's a lot here. Look, statements, old letters, stuff like that. They've not been going unnoticed.

There's a lot, isn't there.

...

[ _Jon, not listening, doesn't reply_ ]

  
[ _a wry, unhappy tone_ ] Won't be long before we get something like this, ey? A box like this all to ourselves.

  
ARCHIVIST  
[ _still caught up in skim-reading_ ] Not like either of us haven't been involved in at least one statement already.

MARTIN  
[ _clearly bothered_ ] That's not what I mean.

ARCHIVIST  
[ _noticing, the paper sounds stopping, quieter_ ] What do you mean, Martin?

MARTIN  
Nothing. Nothing, just...

[ _uncomfortable, like he's been caught out_ ] Well, we will, won't we? Eventually. And you know the sorts of things people make statements about.

ARCHIVIST  
[ _trying for levity_ ] I mean, some people give statements about the shapes in their tea leaves, or the smudge on the bathroom mirror they think is out to get them.

MARTIN  
[ _testily_ ] The _proper_ statements then.

ARCHIVIST  
Yes. Yes, I suppose we might. [ _self-conscious_ ] I mean, I've already got one. If we're keeping count.

MARTIN  
This'll... this'll be us one day. Records of things that go bump in the night.

ARCHIVIST  
[ _low, more serious_ ] Martin, what's... what's brought this on?

MARTIN  
It's... it's looking at these records. Listening to Dekker's statement. I mean, I-I know a-and I'm not saying that... Crowley and Aziraphale, they've _helped_ us, and they're clearly trying to do _good,_ they're not like the... all the other things, s-so of course, 'course they're on our side, but... [ _trails off, distressed at his rambling_ ]

ARCHIVIST  
[ _prompting_ ] But...?

MARTIN  
But that's the issue. _Our side._ We don't talk about it, we _never_ talk about it, and I don't – Melanie, she's – she's not wrong. We're working for some – some _evil_ things, Jon. I'm not... it's not even about Elias, or Annabelle, but what we are... I don't, do you really think we can be _good_? Aziraphale and Crowley, yeah, they're not like Simon Fairchild or Peter Lukas o-or any of the others, b-but, Jon, people don't _make_ statements about good things, do they? No, no, they make statements about something that terrified them, about some _thing_ that terrorized them or their loved ones, that fed off that fear.

ARCHIVIST  
...

[ _helpless_ ] I don't know what you want me to say, Martin.

MARTIN  
[ _letting out an aggrieved, miserable sound_ ] No. Neither do I.

ARCHIVIST  
I wish I... I don't – I don't have any easy answers for you. I suppose, with Aziraphale and Crowley, it's their nature. They couldn't survive otherwise. Can you blame them?

MARTIN  
But it wasn't _our_ nature, was it? We weren't always... whatever we are now. Monsters.

ARCHIVIST  
[ _a slashed-open pause, a rawer response than he wanted to give_ ]

… Is that what you think we are?

MARTIN  
[ _wretched_ ] I don't know, Jon. Christ I just... I mean, I'm the idiot, I _chose_ this.

ARCHIVIST  
I don't think you did.

MARTIN  
No one told you what becoming Head Archivist would... I mean, you took a _job._

ARCHIVIST  
So did you!

MARTIN  
Yeah, but you never got given a choice. I _knew._

 _[getting more and more riled up with_ _himself_ ] And I just went ahead a-and gave myself to the Lonely –

ARCHIVIST  
Martin –

MARTIN  
– and – and then! t-then I gave myself to the Web, and each time I _knew_ what it would cost –

ARCHIVIST  
Martin, _Martin,_ come on, Martin, please, [ _static boiling over_ ] **listen to me.**

[ _Martin, talking over Jon, immediately stops_ ]

[ _horrified, back to normal_ ] Shit, shit, god, Martin, I'm so, god, I'm sorry.

MARTIN  
…

[ _appeasing, heatless, his temper unspooling_ ] It was an accident, it's – it's ok.

ARCHIVIST  
You're right though. It's not alright. And we don't... we never talk about it.

 _[rustling of cloth, shifting fabric_ ] Please don't get upset. You can, you can talk to me.

MARTIN  
[ _voice thick_ ] I'm fine, it's just. It's all a lot to deal with.

ARCHIVIST  
I know. I know. But you need to know... Martin, that's not a choice. What you did... If you can't say no, that's, that can't be _choice._

 _[ragged out-breath, a muted sound that may or may not be agreement_ ]

We won't get anywhere with all this philosophical circling. [ _ever so soft_ ] Come on. We should get out of here for a bit. Breathing in this dust too long.

MARTIN  
Should I...?

ARCHIVIST  
Leave it there. It'll wait. I think we both need some fresh air.

[CLICK]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bloody love Dekker but _man_ , he is so hard to write for.


	3. Case #7860911

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley's track record of being the patron saints of queers continues. 
> 
> Jon and Martin have an interlude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've done a few works utilizing an LGBT history setting, particularly with some of my GO stuff – it was to my shame that I realised I'd never looked much into it from a WLW perspective. (Shockingly, but unsurprisingly, there is much less history recorded about this, for which you can thank centuries of misogyny and dismissal of the historical interest or value of 'women's lives'. 
> 
> Because this is set in the 18th century, there are content warnings, detailed below.

[CLICK]

[ _a clear of the throat_ ]

GERTRUDE ROBINSON  
Statement of Meredith De Lacey, formerly of Holloway, London, regarding a night-time encounter. Original statement given as part of a letter to Madeline Newby of Kenilworth, Warwickshire, dated the 11th September 1786. Letter donated to and received with thanks by the Magnus Institute, 3rd February 1985. Gertrude Robinson recording.

_My dearest Madeline,  
  
_ _I feel you will much wonder at my silences of late, and I must pray forgiveness for such a slight – truly, I would not have you distress yourself over my whereabouts. Circumstances have unfortunately made it so I have been unable to place down a single word of assurance this past month, and I shall endeavour to set forth my reasonings, in the hope that they meet with your satisfaction. There is much to discuss, and discretion is as ever to be our watchword._

_You will recall, I trust, that I have spoken at length in our correspondences about S. My dearest S., half of my soul, if there was ever rationing for the imprint of the Divine! Oh, you would laugh to see me so changed a character; I, who scorned the trials and temptations of love, who had been courted by a generous number of honourable gentlemen, and who for each had only cold eyes, I who stood aloof and was content to be. Not so!_

_Employed as I am as governess, my work affords me an afternoon off a week to spend as I so wish, and it is in these hours I take a hansom into town, eagerly to meet with S. I am assured that, if you were ever to meet – and how I desire and wish for such happy Providence! – you could claim yourself the most tender and dearest of friends, for you are both blessed of the same sagacity of mind, the same purity of character – though I confess S. does not share your peaceable temperament. We are as Iphis and Ianthe – it is as Ovid declares, that 'a maid with madness does a maid desire', and hence I must be mad, to be so afflicted by my adoration for her, and her for I. Her form and gait is a mastery of mimicry, and – coupled with the judicious use of particular items of clothing to effect a more befitting physical appearance – most would neither question nor recognise the reality of her sex. S.'s work as a groom tending to the stables of a Bloomsbury family means she is able to easily slip away. We spend numerous contented hours in each other’s company – we can promenade and take the air in relative safety, with most presuming that I am out upon the arm of a gentleman. This being said, my dearest Madeline, for I know your kind nature and open heart would not lead you to make accusations as to my character, there are places where those of us with similar predispositions may go, to encounter others and pass secure and untroubled hours out of the way of prying eyes._

_It is upon this detail that I must expand upon in order for my tale to bear any comprehension. Myself and S., dressed in the attire of men, for such is the manner and custom of the place we were frequenting – and an outfit which grants us a degree of protection against those who might make enquiries as to the nocturnal pursuits of two young women – were leaving one such establishment not three weeks past. The night was bitter and grasping and S. had stopped to settle my coat further around my shoulders when we were accosted by two fellows, rough and coarse in their habit and manner. They entreated us rudely to conversation, and upon doing so began accusing us of possessing the most abnormal of passions, of all manner of licentious acts and self-pollution which we were meant to have perpetrated with the patrons of the club and each other. On what was to be done about this, it was strongly intimated to us that our choices were two-fold; the fellows described the ease by which we might both be brought up before a magistrate on accusation of sodomy and indecency on their fabricated evidence and easily bribed witnesses who would attest to our despicable acts, or we could pay them a nominal fee to keep their silences._

_From their conversation, we quickly took them to have mistaken us for those who visit the molly houses nearby, our disguises having worked too well. It is not unknown, it grieves me to say, for even the most innocent of men to be stopped and so accused of unspeakable vices for_ _the purpose of fraud and blackmail._ _I vocally declared my disdain for their presumption, but this was to no avail, and one of the men peered closer at me with a lascivious eye that chilled my skin, and announced to his fellow that they had snared not mollies but rather two tommies, dressed in the garb of our masters. The man repeated his threat, and I baulked at the figure suggested, for it was far more than either of us could afford on our incomes such as they were. Our choices were paltry, and both abhorrent to think upon._

_That was when my dear S., resourceful though often fool-hardy and predisposed to mannish recourse, quite surprised the closest fellow with a sudden blow administered sharply, and in the blossoming confusion, we ran, seeking to lose our assailants. Alas, what a happy fate that should have been! After a number of minutes, we noted they were almost upon us again. I confess I was much distressed – should we be caught, despite your support, I had no illusions that I would be cut off from my inheritance by my family should their daughter be implied to be a tribade, and no employer would recommend me to another place of employment. Worse, and filling me up with a stronger, darker terror, my thoughts were full of recollection of poor Mary Hamilton, and the humiliations she suffered, and my mind entertained such ghoulish visions of my dearest S., sentenced to hard labour and publicly flogged – in that moment, I did not have space to allow my own selfish terror at the same fate._

_Onwards we ran, yet S. was beginning to tire and I prayed that God might be with me and guide the two of us to salvation. S.'s relationship with the Almighty is an altogether fraught affair that I shall not divulge here, but I go every Sunday and now I prayed for deliverance with the same fervency as I have often worshipped at the feet of Our Lord._

_This is where I wish to recount the uncommon and inexplicable part of my tale. For no sooner had I beseeched a higher power for our deliverance than I felt a... I should call it a tugging for that is how it physically felt, a wrenching pull, a sensation of great immediacy, and I nearly toppled my dear S. in my haste to turn right down a different road. I felt as a fly, bound and helpless as a spider pattered closer with careful feet, testing its strands of web and drawing mine closer, for drawn I was, my feet moving on their own behest, and S. could but follow me blindly as I took turn after turn, enticed on along pathways and streets I did not know, perhaps St Martin in the Fields, nearing St Anne’s Soho._

_The tugging pulled us out into a square, when it loosened upon me somewhat. I was entirely without intelligence as to where we were. The lamplighters had been out, and yet the square was nigh on pitch, patches of black decorating its corners. We hurried to conceal ourselves in one of these dark enclaves, hoping that it would be an anathema to the brightness of the square and afford us some shelter. Our pursuers spilled into the square moments later, disrupting the peace of the place and sending my soul into another paroxysm of terror. I could not see S.'s expression in the encompassing dark, but she pressed me against the wall as though to hide me beneath her, and even in that hellish moment, I felt such a rush of affection that I should be allowed such a dear creature to lighten the rooms of my life left fallow and empty for so long._

_I might have said that we were being observed, keenly, a labouring weight to it, as though a falcon upon a high and obscured perch watching the scurry and chase of a lowly fieldmouse. Yet it must have been a fanciful terror of mine, for there was not a soul in that square aside from our pursuers. The small, squinted windows overlooking us appeared as mute and judging eyes, the dim trail of the moonlight striking off their glass to give them the impression of possessing vision. Moments passed, and the men's confusion grew as they looked around the square. Their mutterings turned to ejaculations of fury at having been so cheated, and their rage quickened a greater stoking of terror in me, for I feared the expression of their violence upon our persons should we be discovered._

_It was at this point our impasse was infringed upon by two gentlemen, appearing for all the world as though they were taking the evening air, despite the uncharitable hour. These two were the very opposites of each other; one given perhaps to food and good cheer, shorter and thicker-set, a ruddy whiskered face, though quite behind the fashion of the time in his apparel. The other was tall, stiff and inexorable in his movements, not given enough to the pleasures of the flesh to see the fasting thinness to his form. He had a hard compressed mouth and had all the appearance of a man preparing himself for something most distasteful._

_Our pursuers bade them halt. The discourse between them was at such a distance that I could not hear the details, but our pursuers had taken upon themselves the mien of stalking predators and I glanced up at S., expressing my concern that they would turn their ire on our unsuspecting rescuers – S. shook her head, afflicted by a partiality to our own situation. There was not space enough in us to forewarn those men when we were so caught up in our own illicit terrors._

_There seemed much protestation from the shorter gentleman at the disruption of their stroll, the presumption of the two to so accost them with such beastly intent, and a firm entreaty for them to head about their business. This affronted manner boded poorly for him, though he did not baulk as our pursuers became disagreeable, rowdy and I do not doubt their words took on the dark cast of threats of violence and ruin that we had so recently been subjected to. The short man did not seem altogether surprised. I think, looking back at these events, he had been waiting for the excuse of it._

_The taller man glanced over at the shorter man, adjusted the dark glasses perched on his face, the only peculiarity of his features I could notice in the low light._

_The shorter one nodded his assent, and made a gesture, flat handed, his fingers extended, like he was engaged in the calming of an insolent steed – then, at a distance, he appeared to give a small twist of his fingers to the motion, as though he was turning down the flame of a gas lamp._

_The lights went out._

_I cannot fully explain such a phenomenon to you, Madeline. One moment, the street was dark and strung bitterly by the cold, touched by a yellowing smog and the sick gleam of the silvered moon. And then I was as though blind, and I tried to muster the courage to keep from exclaiming in anguish, and I shook against my dear S. clutching her to me and praying that I may have her in my arms when the end – for so sure was I that we should be struck down by ungodly means! – came. In that moment, I heard a rending commotion, a scream of such torment that I believed all the demons of Hell spilled asunder upon this mortal plane._

_Madeline, I prayed that I would be taken first so I would not see her suffer. She has told me since that for the first time in a long time she beseeched Our Lord for the same._

_In the Stygian dark, there was nothing to cast my gaze upon, and I sought some spectre of light desperately within my field of vision, paralysed in this darkest obscurity in which we floated._

**_Hush,_ ** _came a kindly voice, as though by my elbow, and from S.'s stiffening, I could presume she heard it also. **Keep your gazes averted, my dears. No harm shall befall you, yet there are such things here that we would not wish you privy to.**_

_I tried to trust in that spectral promise, despite the loathsome, awful narrative being declared by my limited senses. There was a hideous rending of cloth, the pungent wet sound of a butcher slicing flesh, a scuttling of legs more numerous than expected. Heavier, dare I say more human footfalls, running, staggering, fumbling over each other as they fled, babbling nonsensically with contrition and hysterics. Followed with that gambolling sound of pattering as of an infant child at play, a despairing, moaning, scream that prolonged, that stretched the dark with its strength. I held my dearest S. to my breast as the sound rattled out, became fainter like it was obscured by some body of water, before it went silent._

_We breathed in the silence and waited for deliverance._

**_I would advise you leave with haste,_ ** _murmured the voice. **You have nothing more to fear.**_

_The light returned, and the two gentlemen were gone._

_I did not look about the moon-dappled square and the shadows not quite empty. I did not listen to the creaking, wriggling motions of those two rounded, squirming parcels dangling from the lamppost like horse chestnuts. I did not look at them, the eyes staring out begging from the folds of silk. I did not look, I could not look. I took S.'s hand and led her trembling from the square. I am not ashamed to say that I saw the dropped purse of those men, laden with ill-gotten spoils, and I took that too. That nudge in my mind returned when I hesitated, so I did as was suggested numbly. We walked away from the square, until we could not hear their muted pleading, until we were amongst the scatterings of night-time civilisation again._

_All at once, sensation flooded against me like a wave and I tried to muffle a sob behind my hand. S. was not so reticent; in the shade of some side alley, she got her arms around my neck, wild with a gladness, and I will confess I was not as composed as I would hope for myself, for I embraced my love in kind, returned each of her fierce and bold kisses._

_I did not return to my post that night. She did not return to Bloomsbury. We begged a room from a mutual acquaintance who knew the value of privacy, changed from our mannish apparel to night shifts, and sheltered so, and bathed in the comfort of candlelight we discussed what had occurred._

_We could scarce express our impression of the events, even safe as we were, swaddled in each other’s hold and covers to banish the chill and the shivering in our limbs. I mentioned the money I had taken, and curious, we counted it out by the weak glow of the flame. It was such a sum, more than I would have expected those men to have collected in an evening. I have the strong suspicion, though I cannot confirm, that more was added by those strange, fearsome men, though for what reason I cannot divulge._

_S. told me a thought had snagged her conscience as we left that square, that it burrowed as something flowering under her skin; the thought that there must be places, she said, where priests could be bribed or might be amenable to such unorthodox requests, that we could leave London, take upon ourselves different names and guises and become as husband and wife to the outside world. That we should strike out early tomorrow, catch the first train out of London, and that we could be free of this city, be free of it all, that we could be in our own faithful and quiet way the happiest two souls can be._

_I pressed my lips to hers, filled with such an overwhelming sensation of adoration as one human being can have for another. We did not need to speak more for a long time._

_I enclose in this letter my new address. We have cast asunder all trappings of our former lives, even our names – in a romantic and fanciful turn that is characteristic of her, S. considered that we should take as our new denominations the family names of Anne Bonny and Mary Read, those brave and daring pirates whose tales have been lauded and decried in equal measure._

_Perhaps in the fullness of time, we shall meet again, and embrace as sisters, and I shall with a full and glad heart, be able to tell you all that has passed since we were last together._

_Yours, ever,_

_Meredith._

Statement ends.

[ _a satisfied humming_ ]

Well. All told, a rather interesting tale, and any follow up I was able to uncover on this doesn't disappoint. Parish records are notoriously ill-kept for such early periods, not to mention full of inconstancies, but I was able to find reference to Meredith De Lacey, or Meredith Read if we can presume that is the name she took. Meredith Read married Stephen Bonny in December 1787 in the parish of St Giles, Durham, having obtained a marriage licence for expediency. Madeline Newby was noted in the parish record as a witness. As far as I can tell, they remained in that parish until their deaths – I have been able to find the burial records for both. Stephen Bonny was registered as a farrier, Meredith Bonny, née Read as his wife. It is somewhat comforting to find a happy ending devoid of the usual pitfalls.

All that remains is to address those strangers. Men, though I doubt men is what they are. As Adelard has made reference to in his earlier letter, there is not much by the way of reliable news in what counts as the media of the time. Nevertheless, I have been able to source a minor reference to a 'mysterious illness' which struck two men found by labourers in the housing area now known as Mayfair. I cannot be certain those are the two men that Meredith De Lacey left to their fate, but the timing seems to fit. The paper describes an 'affliction most perplexing', manifesting as a white-threaded growth which covered the mouth and rendered the sufferer mute. An unusual turn of the Web. Victims are not usually left alive, although I suspect in this case, this may not have been the most charitable option. There is no reference made as to whether they survived such a bizarre cruelty.

I have now uncovered numerous references, along with Adelard's help, leading to my near certainty that there is an agent of the Web working in the Greater London area. Less certain but bearing close consideration is the possibility that a Beholding manifestation, or similar Power, may be working in proximity or even in tandem with it. A curious consideration, to be certain.

I have been able to narrow down a Soho address where I might find some answers.

I think it might be high time I paid the locals a visit.

  
[CLICK]  
  


* * *

  
[CLICK]

[ _background noises; a shift of paper, an interested hum held low in someone's throat. This continues for some time, the flick of pages being turned, the odd small noise_ ]  
  
[ _a raise and rub of fabric as though someone's turned over_ ]

MARTIN  
[ _blearily]_ Y'doin' it again, J'n.

ARCHIVIST  
I'm...?

MARTIN  
[ _muffled, like his face is buried into a pillow_ ] Turn your eyes _off,_ will you? It's like sleeping next to a lighthouse.

ARCHIVIST  
[ _nonplussed_ ] Oh? _Oh!_ I... er, um. Sure, sorry. Are they... Have I stopped?

MARTIN  
[ _sleepy and rough_ ] Hang on, I'll...

ARCHIVIST  
You don't need to –

[ _a snapping click, a lamp being switched on, a wincing grumble at the sudden illumination_ ]

MARTIN  
I wasn't really sleeping anyway. Not really. Come then, let's have a look at you.

ARCHIVIST  
Bit late for an ogle, isn't it?

MARTIN  
[ _mock-seriously_ ] Never too late.

ARCHIVIST  
[ _makes a half amused, half oddly pleased sound_ ]

MARTIN  
See, you're just squinting with them, you need to actually shut them.

ARCHIVIST  
Can't you just pull the covers over your head or something?

MARTIN  
They're _your_ eyeballs. I dunno, think happy thoughts or something. That might do the trick.

ARCHIVIST  
Your advice is shockingly unhelpful and derivative.

MARTIN  
 _Try._

ARCHIVIST  
 _[grumbling]_

MARTIN  
There you go! [ _a little shudder_ ] Weird.

ARCHIVIST  
What's weird?

MARTIN  
When they close and your body kind of, I guess, sucks them back in?

ARCHIVIST  
[ _self-conscious, trying not to give it away_ ] Bad weird?

MARTIN  
Don't make that face. I still think you're a catch.

ARCHIVIST  
I mean, at least they're a helpful side-effect of being an inhuman fear-devouring entity?

MARTIN  
[ _flatly, joking_ ] Being your own reading light. How useful.

ARCHIVIST  
[ _heatless_ ] Oh shush.

MARTIN  
When I drop my keys or something, last resort, we can point your face to the ground, illuminate the...

[ _a snorting laugh, some tussling, words intelligible._ ] O-ok! Ok! I-ha-I'll stop, I'll stop!

ARCHIVIST  
When _you_ start growing extra spider limbs, you won't be so sniffy.

MARTIN  
Christ, I hope not. [ _yawns_ ] You aren't recording those statements, what're you doing up?

ARCHIVIST  
Thought I'd organise them. Mislabelling, classifying and dating the content, etcetera.

[ _huff, the sound of a man who has been building up a good whinge_ ] You have to hand it to Gertrude, she really knew how to make life difficult for...

MARTIN  
 _[a groan] Jon._  
  
[ _slurring against cloth_ ] I know it's your favourite past-time but leave the rant about Gertrude until a more reasonable time, yeah?

ARCHIVIST  
…

Paused on request.

MARTIN  
You're too kind.

[ _silence for a bit, night-sounds, a squeak of springs, redistributing weight_ ]

ARCHIVIST  
I saw Aziraphale.

MARTIN  
What d'you mean? When?

ARCHIVIST  
Last night. While I was [ _distastefully_ ] doing the rounds.

MARTIN  
Did he... did he say anything, was he alright?

ARCHIVIST  
No. To, both of those. But I think he's getting there. He needs time.

MARTIN  
Crowley should be round tomorrow. Collect some more statements.

ARCHIVIST  
Hm.

I've been reading more statements. About them.

MARTIN  
Let me guess, more chronicles of the terrible and the terrifying.

ARCHIVIST  
Not all of them are – I mean, there's a bit of survivorship bias surely. We only ever get the horrifying records of tragedy that people have experienced and lived through.

MARTIN  
[ _unconvinced_ ] And you think there are some people out there, who, what, had a pleasant encounter with the Flesh and never wrote in?

ARCHIVIST  
I'm not saying that. Just that not all of them are awful. Like, we've got [ _rifling_ ] this one... Meredith De Lacey. She and her partner, they...

MARTIN  
That the.... [ _yawning_ ] sorry, that the one who changed her name and ran off to the north east to get married?

ARCHIVIST  
How did you...?

MARTIN  
Me and Tim. When you were... going a bit, you know, when you were being all paranoid and stalking our bins. You weren't really around to do a lot of supervising. So me, Tim and Sasha – or, huh, yeah, not Sasha as it turned out – we started an inventory of 'spooky gay stories'. Tim's idea. He said it was making valuable contributions to a sense of queer community.

It lasted about an afternoon. Think that one was mis-filed under the Dark, I'd completely forgotten about it.

It's a nice one. A happy ending.

…

It's nice to know some people get them.

ARCHIVIST

…

[ _tentative_ ] Do you want to talk about it?

MARTIN  
'bout what?

ARCHIVIST  
[ _non-confrontational_ ] Whatever you are very loudly thinking about? I – I've not been looking, I promise, just your face is...

MARTIN  
….is – ?

ARCHIVIST  
You know. Doing a thing.

MARTIN  
'A thing'

ARCHIVIST  
[ _sighing at the prospect of using his words_ ] You have a particular expression. For when you're... puzzling something over, so to speak.

MARTIN  
Can't keep anything from you, huh.

ARCHIVIST  
[ _trying to backtrack_ ] I didn't mean it like...

MARTIN  
It's alright. I'm not... It doesn't bother me. I was... I'm just thinking is all. About everything.

ARCHIVIST  
[ _at the lack of follow-up, trying the softly-softly approach_ ] About anything in particular?

MARTIN  
I'd rather not... Not tonight, Jon. Not now.

ARCHIVIST  
OK. That's ok. I'm... you know I'm here for you? Whatever it is.

MARTIN  
I know.

C'mon. Sleep. You look knackered. An early one won't kill you. 

ARCHIVIST  
Huh. Suppose so.

[ _a snapping click, the rustle of sheets._ ]

[ _soft breathing_ ]

MARTIN  
[ _a small sigh, mostly endeared_ ] Stopping looking at me, and go to sleep.

ARCHIVIST  
I _have_ stopped.

MARTIN  
 _Other_ eyeball, Jon. You missed one.

ARCHIVIST  
[ _grumbling]_ There's always bloody one of them.

[CLICK]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for:  
> * discussion of, and depiction of period-based homophobia  
> * mention of corporal punishment
> 
> Notes about S: It was not unheard of for women to cross-dress for social or economic purposes, rather as an expression of gender identity, which is why S. retains female pronouns while living as a 'man'. 
> 
> I can recommend, for those interested and which I used when researching this chapter (which I started writing SO LONG AGO, it took so long, bloody hell)  
> * Passions Between Women: British Lesbian Culture, 1668-1801 (Emma Donoghue)  
> *Sapphistries: A Global History of Love Between Women (Leila J. Rupp)
> 
> Upcoming:  
> Chapter 4: Martin's worries (and newfound powers) come to a head


	4. Supplemental Material

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Supplemental material, relating to discussions of a personal nature between Martin Blackwood, agent of the Web, and the Archivist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, finally, finally, Martin learns to use this words. 
> 
> (In terms of the previous work, this mentions a couple of events in part 5 with Noah Schubach, but it's not necessary to recall that, just gives it a bit of context)

[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST  
Martin. Martin! Mar – [ _a thump, ringing, dense, of something hard hitting something wooden_ ] _Christ,_ [ _a hiss of pain_ ] bloody hell – Mart – !

[ _squeaking hinges of the door_ ]

MARTIN  
You caterwauled?

What are you – Look, would you come out of there before you injure yourself again, honestly.

[ _the scrabbling sound of someone getting out from under a table and up to standing, the motion as graceful as a stubbed toe._ ]

Now. What were you crawling around looking for?

ARCHIVIST  
[ _grumbling, sore, brisk_ ] Martina Whitehead's statement, the one with Aziraphale and Crowley and the Dark, I can't seem to find where you've put it.

MARTIN  
Wasn't it in the batch we delivered to Crowley?

ARCHIVIST  
[ _tuts to himself, annoyed_ ] More than likely. I had hoped to do a bit of follow-up on that one.

MARTIN  
It's been mouldering next to some pipes for who knows how long, I'm sure you can manage a week without it.

ARCHIVIST  
[ _an upturned smile dragged out of him unconsciously_ ] Quite.

MARTIN  
What about this one?

[ _rustling paper_ ]

ARCHIVIST  
What is it?

MARTIN  
Found it shoved amongst some Desolation accounts, god knows why.

ARCHIVIST  
[ _affecting a high-and-mighty dickishness_ ] I think some poor Archivist needs to get some better assistants about the place.

MARTIN  
[ _giving it back with relish_ ] Some poor assistant _probably_ needs to get a better Archivist.

ARCHIVIST  
I'm wounded.

MARTIN  
You'll survive.

ARCHIVIST  
[ _a chuckle he has deemed work-appropriate_ ]

You’ve taken a look at it? Think it's about him?

MARTIN  
Skimmed it to be honest, but there's enough there to seem to fit the bill at any rate. The usual, it comes via a friend of a friend of a friend of some drag act in Bermondsey, about, erm [ _double-checks the title page_ ] some genial older guy who hangs about in gay bars and who they think might be psychic or something. It's sketchy, but sounds a bit like Aziraphale from the description. The friend of a friend of a friend gave us the statement few years back, guess they were hoping for a couple of quid from it.

ARCHIVIST  
You give them your pocket change? [ _soft thump, laughing_ ] Ow, fine, fine. I'll give it a read.

MARTIN  
Want me to go?

ARCHIVIST  
Stay, if you want. It's only a short one, I won't be long.

MARTIN  
I'll grab my sandwiches, keep you company. Basira and Daisy are off who knows where, and I don't think we'll be hearing anything from Crowley about those statements for a bit.

ARCHIVIST  
[ _not quite under his breath_ ] If he even gets them.

MARTIN  
Huh?

ARCHIVIST  
[ _refusing to be cowed_ ] I doubt that young man was paying attention to your instructions, otherwise distracted as he was.

MARTIN  
[ _obviously smiling_ ] Jon, your _face._

ARCHIVIST  
What?

MARTIN  
You look so pissy.

ARCHIVIST  
I have _eyes,_ Martin –

MARTIN  
– More than the usual at times.

ARCHIVIST  
– and he wasn't exactly being _subtle_ about it.

MARTIN  
[ _enjoying the show immensely_ ] You're so dramatic.

[ _a pecking kiss_ ] I'm not about to run off with some twenty-year-old because he gave me a look-over.

ARCHIVIST  
[ _appeased, trying not to show it by grouching_ ] I know that.

MARTIN  
[ _a knowing, unconvinced hmm_ ]

The place they talk about in this statement, the bar they mention. It's about, what, ten minutes on the bus with good traffic. Could grab a drink and have a nosey around? See if they know anything else?

ARCHIVIST  
We're not detectives, Martin, we're _researchers._

MARTIN  
Spooky researchers.

ARCHIVIST  
Must you use that –

MARTIN  
Fine. Researchers exploring the truth behind [ _over-dramatic voice_ ] tales of the eldritch and macabre. Better?

ARCHIVIST  
[ _deadpan_ ] You missed a career in radio.

MARTIN  
...so that's a no then?

ARCHIVIST  
…

[ _the sort of long-suffering usually only managed by cats_ ] … _one_ pint.

MARTIN  
C'mon, you might even enjoy yourself.

ARCHIVIST  
[ _sigh_ ] Unlikely, but I [ _equally overdramatic_ ] shall _try,_ for your sake.

MARTIN  
[ _fond_ ] Hurry up chewing your statement. Then we can head off.

  
[CLICK]  
  


* * *

  
[CLICK]  
  


[ _the background, half-vacant sounds of a winding down pub; someone raising their voice briefly to make a point, a clink of glass, a squeak of leather being depressed with weight_ ]

ARCHIVIST  
The woman at the bar. Should we ask now?

MARTIN  
Let me get my coat off first. We don't even know if she'd recognise...

[ _a thrum of static_ ]

ARCHIVIST  
She's known Aziraphale for years. Considers him a local, knows his order by heart, he doesn't even have to ask these days. He gave her a book once. She mentioned to him that she read it when she was a little girl, that she couldn't find it since it'd gone out of print, and the next time he came in, he presented it like a rabbit out a hat, a pleased little magic trick he performed just for her. She's never forgotten that.

MARTIN  
Glad your eyeball is giving us useful information for a change.

ARCHIVIST  
You want to lead on questions,then you go ahead.

MARTIN  
Come on. We'll go up together. Wine and soda?

ARCHIVIST  
I've a tenner on me if you...

MARTIN  
I've got this, my treat.

[ _footsteps_ ]

BETTY MALLOY  
Hi luv, what you having?

MARTIN  
Regular wine soda and... um, the IPA on draft, please.

BETTY MALLOY  
[ _keying it into the till, small electronic beeps punctuating the atmosphere_ , _over the pull of the beer tap_ ] 'kay, anything else?

ARCHIVIST  
Actually, we were hoping you might be able to help us.

BETTY MALLOY  
[ _friendly, amiable, speaking over the fizz and pour of the soda spluttering out_ ] Depends on how, but I'll give it a go.

ARCHIVIST  
There's a man who comes in here sometimes. Mr Fell. Do you...?

BETTY MALLOY  
[ _abruptly cautious_ ] Yeah, I know 'im. You family or summin'?

ARCHIVIST  
Not _exactly,_ but...

BETTY MALLOY  
[ _curt, interrupting_ ] Then why you asking?

ARCHIVIST  
We've just a few questions, that's all.

BETTY MALLOY  
Any business you've with him is your own.

ARCHIVIST  
Ms. Malloy...

BETTY MALLOY  
And just where are you getting my name from exactly?

ARCHIVIST  
[ _weakly, sensing this going downhill fast_ ] We _really_ don't want to take up too much of your time.

BETTY MALLOY  
You already are, luv.

MARTIN  
[ _calmly interjecting_ ] We were hoping you could tell us a little bit about him, that's all.

BETTY MALLOY  
I...oh, I'm not sure about that, luv. He's a private soul, wouldn't want to...

MARTIN  
[ _continuing with the same diplomatic good-natured tone_ ] He's in trouble. Pretty desperately actually. We could really use your help, if you wouldn't mind?

BETTY MALLOY  
[ _acquiescing_ ] Well, if you think it'll help. What would you like to know?

[ _Martin doesn't continue_ ]

ARCHIVIST  
Right. Right. That's... that's very kind of you, Ms. Malloy, thank you. What can you tell us...

MARTIN  
[ _odd, a catch in his throat_ ] Jon. I've... I've got to – I'll catch up with you, I need –

ARCHIVIST  
Are – are you ok?

MARTIN  
[ _higher-pitched, clearly not_ ] I'm... I just need some air. You can, I'll leave you to do your thing.

[ _rapid steps, the sound of the door being swung wide_ ]

ARCHIVIST  
Oh. OK then.

BETTY MALLOY  
He's a sweetheart, your young man. Mind, he didn't look very well there.

ARCHIVIST  
He... [ _rallying_ ] He'll be alright. So, Ms. Malloy, what can you remember about Mr Fell?...

[CLICK]  
  


* * *

[CLICK]

[ _outside, the faint brush of the wind crackling in the speakers, the weather building up to a committed bluster_ ]

[ _a gravel-pathed crunch, distant park sounds – people walking smartly, the faint barks of a few dogs_ ]

ARCHIVIST  
Martin, it's freezing out here. Why don't you come back inside the bar?

MARTIN  
[ _dully, like he's not really listened_ ] Did you get it? The statement.

ARCHIVIST  
That's not – I, yes I did, but that's not the –

MARTIN  
[ _cutting him off_ ] We should head back to the Institute then. It's getting on a bit. You got my coat? My Oystercard's in...

ARCHIVIST  
Martin, please.

MARTIN  
[ _waspish_ ] _What,_ Jon?

…

...

[ _deflates, quieter_ ] What, Jon.

ARCHIVIST  
What's wrong?

MARTIN  
…

Have you... [ _really forcing himself to spit it out_ ] Have you noticed people smile at me more?

ARCHIVIST  
[ _this was obviously not the response he was waiting for_ ] I – erm. I mean, I wouldn't say so? I hadn't really noticed.

MARTIN  
They do. Smile at me more, I mean. I walk into shops or cafes or _anywhere_ and they're – they're just... God, it wasn't like – people weren't _rude_ before, not generally, but they definitely weren't so...

– The thing is, right, I'll ask people for something, and they're all so obliging and helpful, in a way they, I know they wouldn't be, if it was anyone other than me who'd asked. A-and t-the worst, the _worst_ part, Jon [ _getting more frantic_ ] is I know _exactly_ what I need to say to get what I want. There's a-a-a part of me, something that tells me that if I say one thing, a particular word, or do another, make the right expression, use the right tone, if I give them, you know, a bit of a nudge, they'll do whatever I want them to do.

ARCHIVIST  
You've always been good with people, Martin, maybe it's...

MARTIN  
Not that good! That woman in there, she didn't _want_ to tell us anything, she wasn't _going to_ say anything. We would have uncomfortably drunk our drink faster than we'd intended and we would have left and that would have been that. And I _made_ her. I-I nudged all the puzzle pieces into place and she told us whatever we wanted to know, and w-what sort of sick, fucked up...

[ _a violent exhale_ ] What do I do, knowing that – [ _hitching breath_ ] that's who I am now?

ARCHIVIST  
It's going to – Martin, it'll take time, that's all, time to learn to control it.

MARTIN  
It'll just get stronger! You _know_ it will Jon, you and me both, this is _what we are_ now.

A-a-and all I can, all I can _think_ about [ _wretched, incensed_ ] is that's how they survive, all the rest of them, th-the Eliases and Peter Lukases of the world. They feed their god so it doesn't consume them, isn't that the way it works? Y-you could argue it's in their nature, I suppose, all the ways they terrorise and torment and _hurt_ people, that it's survival, a-and s-so is that going to be us, Jon, is that our future right there waiting for us?

…

[ _a sniff_ ] All those statements, even the good ones, there's a price to pay for this – this power, or ability, or whatever. People get hurt. A-and yeah, you can say some of those people were 'bad people', l-like in that, what was it, the De Lacey statement, b-but when did we get to choose, Jon, when did we get the right to play judge and jury with other people's lives?

Christ, what if it gets _worse,_ what about when we stop _caring_ about how wrong it all is –

ARCHIVIST  
You don't know that!

MARTIN  
What if I do though, Jon? What if I _hurt_ people...?

ARCHIVIST  
You won't, Martin!

MARTIN  
How do you know that!

ARCHIVIST  
Because I know you! I know you wouldn't do something like that.

MARTIN  
But that's my point, that's _exactly my point._ I would. I wouldn't know any better, wouldn't think anything different. I can do it now, _right now_ , and it'd be so so easy to just... carry on. And it'd be little at first, a few nudges here and there to get what I wanted out of people, and I'd make the excuses I needed to, and all that time, this power, t-this sickness in me, it'd grow and it'd grow, and people would be _frightened_ of me, people would get _hurt..._

ARCHIVIST  
They wouldn't.

MARTIN  
What if, Jon! W-what would you do, would you stop me?

ARCHIVIST  
[ _upset, angry_ ] What do you want me to say?

MARTIN  
[ _equal heat, near shouting, near in tears_ ] Yes, of course!

ARCHIVIST  
Then yes!

…

[ _sigh_ ] Yes. I would. Because you'd want me to. The you that you are now.

Because you... you stopped me.

MARTIN  
[ _wet, miserable sounding_ ] I'm scared Jon. I don't... I don't want to be. I want to pretend it's all OK, and that I'm fine, and that I can deal with this, but I-I _can't,_ not like you.

ARCHIVIST  
Martin, I'm – Christ, Martin, love, you think I'm dealing with this?

MARTIN  
You aren't?

ARCHIVIST  
Of course I'm not! Martin, I –

[ _a creak and whine of wood as he sits_ ]

[ _quieter_ ] Of course I'm not. I'm monstrous. I'm everything Elias wanted to make me into. I can expose people's deepest, most hideous secrets, and it feels _good,_ it feels... really _really_ good. I watch their terrors unfold nightly, and I do _nothing_ but watch, and I am – I am satiated, I am fed, and I know it's not enough, and it'll never be enough. And I don't... I don't think I could stop. Not without, well. Ending things.

[ _frustrated_ ] I don't know what I'm turning into, I don't know what the Eye wants, or Elias wants, or even the fucking Web wants, and I am so tired of not knowing so much. And _now,_ well, now, I'm sitting out on this bloody bench, and it's freezing, and I'm cold, and you – Martin, you're so unhappy, you're _hurting_ and I can't... I can't do or say anything to help you the way I wish I could.

[ _a low trembling breath. It's not clear who this comes from_ ]

I've been... I've had a lot of time to think about this. I'm not – well, it wouldn't be right of me to presume that that means I've any more authority to speak on this whole, weird whatever-this-is... The point is, I spent [ _a huff of air_ ] I've _spent_ if I'm honest, a long time worrying about it all. I died, and I came back when I really shouldn't have, and I can't pretend that I'm a person anymore. Not after everything I've done. [ _wryly_ ] I am the Avatar of Awful Knowledge and Revealed Secrets, for all that means.

[ _quietly]_ But I don't think I'm a monster. Not anymore. And I can't bring myself to believe you are either.

MARTIN  
[ _desperate_ ] But how can you _know_ that?

They were all human once. Peter and Jude, even Elias, and now they've got nothing left in them that their gods h-haven't _twisted_ into something terrible. How can you be so sure that it'll be any different with us?

ARCHIVIST  
Because. [ _slightly stronger, urgent_ ] Martin, all these statements we've been dealing with. You've organised half of them, you were – you were even in some of them! Aziraphale and Crowley, they helped those people! They've been helping all this time, the only way they're able, using what they are and what they can do, and I don't see why we... [ _suddenly aware he's been raising his voice_ ]. I don't think it's easy for them. Either of them. But they're trying to make a difference with the only hand they've been dealt. They had to practise being human. Day after day of learning how to be the entities they are now.

Peter and Jude and the rest of them, they had choices, they had moments they could have stopped, and they made their decisions, one after another, after another. Maybe they could have used their powers, somehow, to help others, but maybe it was easier not to fight against it, to embrace the inhumanity of it, maybe it was easier to justify to themselves that way. And each choice they made, every little step they took, stripped a little bit more away of them until there was no turning back.

[ _quieter_ ] So, I mean, why can't... what's to stop us? From living. From _choosing,_ day after day after day, to be human. To _act_ human. Despite, well, despite everything.

[ _trails off_ ]

[ _a damp chuckle_ ]

ARCHIVIST  
What?

MARTIN  
Nothing, just... as a rallying cry for optimism in the face of certain doom, that wasn't half bad.

…

You've been thinking about this a lot, haven't you?

ARCHIVIST  
[ _awkwardly_ ] Well, I guess, yeah, I've...

MARTIN  
It – it helped. Thanks. I needed – I needed to hear something like that.

[ _a lighter silence_ ]

So what do we do now?

ARCHIVIST  
Pretty sure we go home and get inside where it's not _freezing._

MARTIN  
No, I mean. For us. What now?

ARCHIVIST  
Guess we just carry on.

MARTIN  
Easy as that?

ARCHIVIST  
No. Not easy. But we'll muddle through it together.

MARTIN  
[ _warm, an audible smile_ ]

...

Alright. Together then.

[CLICK]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a statement as part of this chapter, another queer-themed recollection of Aziraphale – and equally, early drafts had the healing Aziraphale show up at the Institute to give Martin a well-needed pep talk, but tbh the chapter flowed much better with a focus on Jon/Martin. I'll be posting it separately as a one-shot after this is all tied up.


End file.
